Teenagers
by Charlie L.E. Scarwood
Summary: After the calm before the storm, there was just the peace after the war, and in that peace it seemed like they were all somehow lacking. For what could they ever do to be as brave as their parents? Or better? And so instead of trying to change the world, they stayed inside it, drowning in their own little pools of unhappiness. For what were they but simple, irrelevant Teenagers?
1. Prologue

Teenagers

_Prologue_

My name is Lyra Callidora Black. I was born in early May 2007 to Cetus Phineas Black II. and Delphia Valene Prewett. I was sorted into Ravenclaw House on the 1st of September, 2018 and have since proceeded to make my older sister Dorene extremely disappointed.

However, this isn't a story about my family troubles – it isn't really about me at all, and thus I will not be the one telling it. After all, who am I to tell anyone's story? And since this story really belongs to everyone and no one in particular, no one of us will be telling it. _After all, who are we to tell anyone's story?_ However, I could take you there, if you'd like, in a way only Magic knows.

And since we have found ourselves in need of a beginning, wouldn't it be fitting to start with the girl who always had to be everywhere first? Or perhaps the boy who was always second?

We could start anywhere – but perhaps we should begin the moment that it all really came together. And that was, according to all signs, during the Prefects' Meeting of 2021, where Charles Grante was Head Boy and Claire Erwin was Head Girl, and the Prefects surrounding them (including my dear sister) each had something different about it to say.

So without further ado, let us go back to the day that started to form our future. Say your goodbyes solemly, for you won't be hearing from me for a very, very long time.

* * *

_(28.10.16) A/N: Hey, so this is a re-write of the beginning of this story. I say beginning because there really wasn't much of it to begin with. There was the slight hitch in my plan of writing this story, the hitch being that I didn't really know much of what was going on and and wasn't quite sure on the form either. So now that I've actually somehow structured the story and am working a bit more on what's going to happen, I'm trying again. This doesn't mean I'll be rewriting every word. No, it just means I'll be taking somewhere, adding elsewhere, and somewhere it'll just stay the same as it was before._

_Also wanna say that this story has a lot of OCs, but since it's a New-Generation fic I guess that's kinda normal, and this doesn't mean there won't be cannon appearances. And most of these OCs are descended from ancient wizarding families anyway._

_Also, this fanfiction was previously named The Tapestry of Black, but since that's what it started as, and has now evolved, I've changed the name to Teenagers. Why? Because teenagers scare the living shit out of me._

_So long,_

_Cheers,_

_Charlie _


	2. 1 The Start

Chapter 1

_The Start_

His footsteps were slightly uneven as he walked through the corridor. He had no idea where she was. He had to find her, because if he didn't, someone was sure to pay. __Babysitting First Years__. He groaned. As if he didn't have enough people to babysit already.

He felt like stopping, maybe he could lean against a wall for a moment, take a few deep breaths, get his erratic heart to calm down a bit and then start searching again. But he didn't, because he never really acted on these whims. They were just that, after all, whims. And he was not in a position where he could simply sit back and relax, not when he had a duty to fulfil and a trouble-maker to find.

Why did he have to look after __her__, too? How did they all expect him to keep up with all this? And there was a Prefect meeting up ahead and he had some sketched out patrol timetables and pairings, because he had been informed of the new Prefects, but not of the identity of the new Head Girl.

God, he hoped she was a good co-worker, because he wasn't really up to arguing his every point at the moment. Other than the patrols, he had a roughly composed speech in his mind about docking points and handing out detentions, but other than that he didn't really know what to do. He hoped his new colleague would be more prepared.

He had tried, he had really tried, but there was only so much that could be said to forty-six kids, sixteen of which were new to this whole thing, and still come off as a good leader. It was crazy – from what his parents had told him, there had only ever been twenty-two Prefects and two Heads. But since the Seconds had gone complaining to the Headmistress there had been some pretty big changes.

It was true that Hogwarts' acceptance of students had grown significantly over the years, so much that the old dorm rooms had to be opened up again from where they had been sealed off and disguised to prevent curious students from sneaking inside them. But forty-six Prefects? He felt like throwing up at the thought of organising all of them.

At least he didn't have to do it alone. Thank Merlin.

He looked down at the golden badge hanging from his T-shirt with a sigh. He had liked the old one better – silver had always been a nicer colour on him than gold. Maybe if it had been bronze, it would have seemed less out of place with his casual attire. And he could have pulled it off as symbolising Ravenclaw, but the capital letters stamped into the smooth surface would have given him away, anyway.

He still had his Prefect badge. He wasn't about to throw it away. It was tucked into a pocket in his trunk and he had stared at it longingly for the better part of the Summer holidays.

Then he had told himself to suck it up and had kicked himself from his place in front of his open trunk, closed it, tucked the Head Boy badge into the back pocket of his jeans, hoping that maybe he could forget about it and crush it by sitting on it. He had had no such luck. No matter how hard he had tried, the thought of the gold little badge taunting him, laughing at him would never leave his mind.

His mother had been horribly proud. She had thrown him a party and baked him a cake and even made his favourite dinner. He had tried to appreciate it, he really had, but it had only made the whole thing seem more real.

He had been polite about it, he had smiled and accepted the praise, but really, he just couldn't shake the feeling that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

And he was giving up. He was giving up on locating little Gaibe Jordeons, because there was no chance that it would happen. He wondered if she had an Invisibility Cloak, because there was no way someone could be this elusive and no First Year could cast a disillusionment charm. But then again, little things, mice, for instance, were good at hiding. Not that he was comparing his cousin to a rodent, of course. But he was, because it was really hard to catch a mouse with your bare hands and it was about the same with Gaibe.

And so he was giving up. She could run around with a little freedom while on the train, but he would have to keep a closer eye on her at Hogwarts. He wondered, if he could not keep her in check on a train, how the hell he was to do so in a castle. A castle where he had classes and duties and he didn't even know if she would be in the same house as him.

Oh, how he hoped she would be, it would be so much less trouble.

He set his hand on the door that he knew to open. He slid it to the right, taking in the sight of the now familiar compartment. It was larger than the normal ones, about four, maybe five of them combined. Of course this was all the work of magic, because the compartment was in the shape of a square and that would have been hard to achieve due to the proportions of the train.

In the middle of the room was a circle consisting of two rows of wooden chairs, as it was each year he had stepped inside this compartment. He knew that the previous Heads had always started with all the Prefects saying their name and a favourite activity, just to get around to knowing each other. Maybe he should do something like that.

The compartment usually held a comfortable air - now it just seemed foreboding. In his fifth year, he had been nervous, but there had been no spotlight, no expectations. But now, now that he had a badge he didn't want and a responsibility he was afraid of, it felt by far worse. But he stepped over the threshold, nonetheless, thinking that he could do it, because he was Charles Grante and that had to mean something, right?

He stopped mid-step, however, when he caught sight of a figure in the far corner. Her back was to him and she was leaning, not quite crouching, but bent halfway over something. She seemed to be rummaging through something, her bag, most likely. Charlie stared at her, not being quite able to divert his gaze as a gentleman perhaps would, because he was transfixed and shocked. He had thought the room was empty. The girl tsked in annoyance and bent over further. Despite himself, at the sight of her skirt rising up along her thigh, his breath hitched and he coughed. Like lightning, the girl was facing him, cheeks flushed over a light spattering of freckles and her posture hostile. Golden bangs fell into wide, chocolate brown eyes.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking, before she seemed to recognise him, her chest deflating as she breathed out a sigh of relief.

„Oh, hi Charlie, you frightened me there." She said. Charlie stared at her. Her shock had seemed to dissipate completely, but his still lingered, accompanied by the feeling of confusion. A nagging little patch in the back of his brain throbbed, telling him he knew this girl. Well, of course he knew her, Hogwarts didn't really take transfers, now, did it? But despite the implacable feeling of familiarity, he couldn't for the life of him figure out who this girl was.

Was she a classmate? No, surely not, she couldn't be. He'd remember her if she was. But then who was she?

„You're Head Boy, then?" The girl said, gesturing to his badge. „Congratulations." She said with a smile. It was genuine. She knew his name, too.

So who __was __this girl?

„Um, yeah, I guess." He said, trying to sound casual. „I'm sorry, what was your name?"

Her smile fell, instead forming into a frown. Her subtle eyebrows were creased and her eyes narrowed. „We've been Prefects together for two years now." She said, her voice adopting a sniffy tone.

„Really?" He guessed he sounded more surprised than he had wanted and it didn't seem to cheer the girl up.

„Yeah, I'm Head Girl now." She held out her hand, in which he could she a shiny gold badge identical to his own, with the only exception of the letter G where his had a B.

„Wow, congrats." I didn't sound too genuine, he knew it. „But seriously, what's your name?"

Her lips pressed into a firm line and he could see that she was angry, offended, even. Well, that was just his luck – offending the person he'd be working with all year constantly, and before school even properly started, too. He deserved a clap on the back. It didn't come. Instead, the girl's voice filled the compartment, suddenly cold.

"Claire, I'm from Gryffindor. We had patrols together back in Fifth Year. We had a few classes together, too."

__ Claire? __He thought back to the mentioned year, wondering when he had ever patrolled with a Claire. His patrolling partner in Fifth Year had been a small, thin girl with short, dirty blonde hair. Claire. He remembered now – and it was quite obvious why he hadn't connected the two – because there was so much different about this girl and the one he had had those few half-hearted conversations with and never paid much thought to.

So how was it possible that this beautiful girl with long, silky hair was that girl he had so easily overlooked? How was it possible that they even had classes together? He wasn't quite sure he believed it.

And so he asked, his voice incredulous, "Claire, Claire Erwin?"

Claire's smile returned to where it had been, she seemed satisfied that he remembered her. She nodded once, turning back around and sticking her hand back into her bag.

Still not able to believe it, Charlie shook his head. "Scrawny Claire..." He muttered in wonder, setting his own bag down on one of the seats. Claire spun around at the words, barely, but just audible in the empty compartment, expression furious and a file of parchment in her hand.

"_What?_"

What a wonderful year he was up for.

* * *

When Anelle entered the Prefects Compartment, she was shocked. She had known there were a lot of Prefects, but seeing them all together like this now... it was crazy. They didn't even fit into one circle for Merlin's sake! Instead, the circle was made out of two rows of chairs broken only by two single-row seats for the Heads. Most of them were sitting down and she noticed the pattern in their grouping. The Firsts sat with the Firsts and the Seconds sat with the Seconds. She wondered if that's how they would be patrolling, too.

She took a seat next to Myles Raby, the First Gryffindor Prefect from her year, and struck up a conversation with him.

„How do they organise so many people?" She asked, and Myles shrugged.

„I have no idea. It always seemed like there was much less Prefects around. I guess there's just a lot of students."

„Actually," Hannah Loh from Hufflepuff leaned in. She has honey-coloured hair and intelligent eyes. „It's cause of the Seconds."

Anelle gave her a questioning look. „What do you mean?"

„I mean that when my parents went to Hogwarts there were half the Prefects there are now. There were also no Seconds."

„Or Firsts." Myles interjected.

„Or Firsts." Hannah nodded. „There were just students, and there weren't enough of them, so they just took up one dormitory a year by gender. The Second ones were sealed up." Anelle tried imagining a school with only eight dormitories being enough for an entire year.

„That's crazy. There must've been no one here at all." She said incredulously.

„Well, there was the war, you know."

Myles was right, it was wars that did things like this. And it wasn't a wonder why there were so many children now that it had ended. One thing didn't sit, though.

„But then if there's twice as many students, it makes sense that there would be twice as many Prefects. It's logical, so how is this the Seconds' fault?" She asked Hannah.

„Oh," Hannah raised her eyebrows, seeming to have forgotten what she had said earlier. „Right. Well, that's because even when there were already about six-hundred something students here, there were still only 24 Prefects – including the Heads, I mean – and they were chosen the same as they used to be. Eight from each year, two from each house. When my oldest sister went here, they still did it like that. But she said that when she was in her sixth year, most of the Prefects were Firsts and the Seconds got pissed off and went to the Headmistress. They convinced McG that they could hardly choose a First over a Second when they don't even share classes and I guess she saw the sense in it."

Anelle nodded. „It does make sense, though."

Hannah shrugged, and the Head Girl closed the door and cleared her throat. Anelle looked over to her and then at Charlie. He seemed at ease. They both did.

„Could I have your attention please?" Claire Erwin called over the chattering students. Most of them shut up, but a few still whispered on.

„Hey!" Charlie called, and Anelle saw Claire give him a quick glare. She wondered what her problem was. Those that hadn't stopped talking before did now, and the two Heads had their undivided attention. Anelle scanned the circle quickly and found that there was only one person who wasn't looking at them. Darrel Grante.

She frowned at the sixth-year Slytherin, but of course he didn't see, because his eyes were searching the ceiling in an extremely bored manner, and he didn't seem to be present at all. It irked Anelle a bit. Not that she was someone whose attention never strayed to more interesting things, but when it came to Charlie, she was always a little touchy.

„Since sixteen of you are new to this whole Prefect thing, I think it would be good to start with introductions. Just say your name and surname, your House, year, and something you enjoy doing." Claire smiled brightly at them. „I''l start. My name's Claire Erwin and I'm Head Girl. I'm a seventh-year Gryffindor and I enjoy water-skiing."

Charlie was next. „I'm Charlie Grante and I'm Head Boy. I'm a seventh-year Ravenclaw and I like reading History novels."

A quiet sneer came from behind Anelle, followed by the hushed whisper of a boy to his by-sitter. „Most importantly, you're both Firsts."

Anelle whipped around to see who had spoken, but could not recognise the Seconds that sat there. It was a blond boy and a dark-haired girl, however, and one wore a Slytherin tie while the other had a Hufflepuff one. The Hufflepuff girl snorted and murmured her scathing agreement. They noticed the auburn-haired girl glaring at them and the boy narrowed his eyes as the girl drew back, leaning against the back-rest of her chair.

„What?" The boy asked harshly, and Anelle locked her jaw.

„Shut up." She told them, her tone an order, and turned back around. She could hear the two murmuring something again, but she blocked them out, concentrating instead on who was introducing themselves.

„I'm Melanie Nott, I'm a sixth-year Slytherin, and I like cutting people's hair." It sounded so absurd Anelle almost laughed. It was a typical Slytherin thing to say, that they enjoy cutting people's hair. Preferably when they were sleeping. Anelle laughed under her breath.

Darrel Grante was sitting next to Melanie Nott, and she had to poke him in the ribs, as he was still staring at the ceiling. Slowly, his chin went back down and his eyes fixed on Melanie, who gestured with her head and whispered something. Darrel looked at the circle, all of them waiting for him to speak. Lazily, he did.

„My name's Darrel Grante, I'm a sixth-year Slytherin." His lips curled into a private smile and his eyes were suddenly twinkling. „I enjoy studying birds."

Melanie looked quietly outraged that he would say that, and she shoved him subtly in the side. Darrel's smug smile stayed put on his face however, and Melanie muttered something to herself, shaking her head.

Anelle listened to the rest of the forty-seven people introducing themselves, only tuning out here and there to think of what she would say when it was her turn. What did she even like doing? In her free time she argued with Arthur, or the two would go do something stupid in the middle of the night. She liked swimming, and leaning out the Gryffindor tower windows, or baking cookies if she could eat the dough. It frightened her to think about it, but it really seemed like she didn't have a hobby.

She tried finding inspiration in what others said – like Albus Potter, or Saoirse Finnigan, but she couldn't seem to think of anything. Not even when Hannah Loh finished her introduction, and it was Anelle's turn. She looked at the mass of people staring at her and it fuelled her. She had always been a crowds person.

„My name's Anelle Redwood, I'm a fifth-year Gryffindor, and I like..." She shrugged. „Transfiguration." Merlin, now she sounded like a nerd.

Behind her, the two Seconds from before (who she now knew to be fifth-years Stanley Isner and Zenia Bard) sniggered, and she turned to glare at them again.

„Oh, like Quidditch and writing is much better." She jibed sarcastically, and the Seconds looked at each other. Zenia, who had said she enjoyed writing when the outer circle (mostly made up of Seconds) had introduced themselves first, creased her eyebrows in confusion.

„Um, yes it is."

„And how is that?" Anelle challenged, but didn't get an answer as the last Prefect (Rory Cusick) said he liked playing the drums, and Charlie started speaking loudly about patrols. Anelle gave the two one last glare and turned around. She'd much rather listen to Charlie than the two idiots behind her. And so she did, and it was the longest she had heard him talk in a very long time, and it really made her start of the year quite pleasant.

* * *

It was all _blah, blah, blah._

At least to his ears, he thought. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, close them, and hum a tune to calm the buzz back into the rhythmic thumping and drum beat. Darrel Grante cleared his throat inconspicuously, half hoping that his brother would hear the hidden word behind it.

_ Prick_.

He was here, Darrel was, on account of the Slytherin sixth-year boys, representing his house because he was an icon to look up to, because he was somehow some sort of star student. The cough nearly turned into a snort, but he held it in just so - it was one thing to mock your brother in private and another to do so (or seem to do so, for he was just in the middle of a monologue) before so many of his little minions. He scowled at the thought that now he was, once more, a minion of his brother's.

Of course no proper minion helped little blonde first year girls escape the prying eyes of his master. It could be said that no matter how hard Charles tried, little Gaibe Jordeons had always liked _him_ better and he liked Gaibe for that even more. It could be said that large shadows darkened the mind when stood in constantly.

And boy, did Darrel know his shadows.

He focused his gaze on a random destination, his eyes falling on the face of a dear family friend he knew not as well as he could, but certainly more than he would have ever wished for. It was so painfully obvious - foam might as well have been pouring from her mouth - because he was a turkey if Redwood didn't have the hots for his brother. And how that girl might have come across a Prefect badge, he could only wonder. But then again, he had one (and for the second year, too), which was a mystery better left unsolved.

Maybe it was that O he had received in Transfiguration back in Fourth that had somehow made McGonagall think that it was a good idea to pin him with the badge (quite literally, too). But badges and pins aside, his brother was _annoying_. And when he wasn't annoying, he was boring - or amusing, depends on where you draw the line between laughter and tears and if you even bother to do so. And there was only so much one could want to hear about _patrols_.

It was easy. _Pairs, timetables, hours after bed, switch patrol, report, take points, be a good leader _\- Whatever.

Oh, and not to forget that friends were not to be left off the hook. As if that buffoon Malcome Fawley had ever been docked twenty for a girl who lost her panties in a broom cupboard. His brother was not only an idiot, he was a hypocrite, too. And not just that, of course, he was many things, all of which his mother loved and father was proud of.

"_Oh, Charles this, Oh, Charles that._"

"_Don't call me Charles, mother._"

"_Oh, of course, Charles._"

And then Charles got an owl, and then Charles got a broom - and then Charles gave it to Fawley, who won a match with it and whatnot. And never to forget that Charles received _twelve OWLs_. So why did he have to get another one and Carrie was given to Darrel? Maybe because Charles' new owl was a jay while poor old Carrie (she was actually pretty young, five years most) was a mere tawny. And then Aunt Mikki (who was a slut, no matter what they said) looked at Charles, then looked at Darrel, then looked at Charles again and told him to babysit her accident of an offspring, because no matter how obvious it was who Gaibe was more likely to listen to, Charles was _obviously_ the right choice.

Well, not as if Darrel exactly _thrived_ to babysit a hyperactive, sadistic little girl, but he did love her nonetheless, while Charles only saw her as a responsibility. Because Charles was so old and Charles was so wise and it had just been _so_ funny when he had attempted to lecture Darrel after he caught him with his face buried in the cleavage of a fifth year Hufflepuff last year - Because neither of them was a Ravenclaw so _obviously_, they were making the wrong choices.

Fuck that on three whole different levels.

And fuck his brother while at it - though not him, he wasn't in for incest and was far from homosexual.

And _blah, blah, blah._

"OK, so Claire here will read the pairs that you will be patrolling in. Any complaints will be best kept behind teeth, because you are going to have to learn to work together..."

And he had tuned in once more only to tune back out again, waiting for the recognition of his name. And then it was there, and Charles' voice was absolutely neutral - thank Merlin - but he was looking straight at him and he was giving him a smile and _what_ did he not get about Darrel _never_ smiling back and did he even _care_?

Obviously not, but he let it slip - he always did - and instead moved on to the next pair and Darrel was left wondering what name had been spoken in association with him and whether he would die naturally or kill himself, because if he was going to be paired up with Redwood - and there she was, smiling right at him, not quite as bright, but bright enough - and practically groaned, because he was fucking paired up with bloody _Anelle Fucking Redwood _and she was just about as annoying as it got. Now that he came to think of it, she and Charles would actually make a great pair - they were both idiots, they were both annoying and he did not like either one very much, but was that even news to the world that Darrel Grante had not much of a fancy for hugging all the little members of his fucking little (huge) family?

It was not, though he did hug his sister. And Gaibe, occasionally.

And _Anelle Fucking Redwood_ was smiling at him like he was a guide to her lunch, which he probably was to her, because as he saw it, Redwood's lunch was Charles and Charles was Darrel's dear old brother - and he hated his guts, so Redwood was out of luck if she thought she was being smart. But the good little minion that he was (or wasn't), he _held his complaints behind teeth_ and gave her an absolutely dismissive stare.

And there was the brat she was, right there, coming up from under the layers of _look at me, Charlie_ and her nose was twitching up and her brow was tap-dancing or _whatever_ and she just looked _so_ offended Darrel almost smiled. Almost.

But he didn't, and Charles started talking about docking points and Redwood became a blur as he spaced off and _did he even care?_ She was prettier like this, anyway - maybe he could even learn to like her because she seemed to be perfect right now- silent and not quite visible and that was two miracles wrapped in one and Darrel _might_ have just been able to fall for her this way.

But he didn't think much more of her, because he was currently contemplating the chances of Charles finding out if he took a nap and if maybe he could figure out a way to nap with his eyes open. He didn't, but just tried his best to ignore all the shit around him (it wasn't that hard) and then he was getting up and walking _all the fuck away_, because there was _no_ way he was staying in a room that held a Charles a second longer than he had to.

And he just hated Charles so much it could have actually hurt if he gave a shit.

Which he didn't.

* * *

_(28.10.16) A/N: If you feel like reviewing and letting me know what you think, I'd really appreciate it. That way I know if anybody's even reading this. Anyways, thanks for reading! Love you just for that. Also, if you liked this, I've got some other stories (mostly one-shots), like Despite, or Grey, or Faces of the Moon. So if you feel like checking those out, I'd love to hear what you think!_

_Cheers,_

_Charlie_


	3. 2 Little Rolled-Up Leaves

Teenagers

Chapter 2

_Little Rolled-Up Leaves_

It was well past the two hours they had pledged when the door to Danny's compartment opened and his two classmates slipped in. Darrel went first, ever the gentleman, with Nott tiptoeing up behind him. Danny felt his stomach flip, as it always did, at the sight of one of his oldest friends.

He had started talking to Darrel first, and Melanie had only come into the picture when Darrel had introduced her – having known her from countless Pureblood get-togethers. They were both his best friends, but Darrel wasn't by far as pretty as her.

"Took you long enough." He stated, sprawled back and comfortable, legs propped up on the thin window ledge. A little paper tube protruded from his mouth. "I'm on my third." One could tell – the compartment smelled heavily of smoke and burning magical herbs. _Only the best quality._

Darrel took a seat opposite him, and Melanie snuggled up to the grey-eyed Grante boy. Danny's eyes narrowed, jealousy souring the taste of leaves on his tongue, even though he knew, in theory, that there was nothing going on. Darrel was selective, very, and Danny had no doubt that given different circumstances Melanie would have been on the top of his to-do list. But Melanie wasn't just a notch on a battered yet polished broomstick, thank Morgana. She was more.

"You're smoking through your allowance." Melanie warned him, as if she didn't know just how it went. She was more practical than him. Though he was fairly and then some.

"Hush down, Nott. I earn my own keep." Melanie snorted. He meant by that, of course, that he stole seeds from his mum, planted and nurtured his own plants, and then sold. And smoked. And took. "Elwood still Prefect?"

"Hasn't been degraded yet, no." Darrel leaned back in his seat. "Pity, though."

"Along with Leiss." Melanie added, contempt on her tongue. Danny rolled his eyes, but silently agreed. They all did. Who wouldn't? It was obvious as the Seconds were all dimwits that neither Elwood nor Leiss were a good choose of Prefect. Not that Darrel was, either. But Darrel said that enough about himself already for it to be necessary to voice. It was a given.

"Who are you paired with then?" Danny took out a lighter and sparked the tip of his whatever-it-was-today to life. "You still with Nevinger, Darrel?" He winked suggestively. Darrel gave a small shrug.

"Nah," Then he frowned. "I'm with Redwood." He said in thought, disbelieving of his fate. Danny winced.

"Ouch. Who're you with, Nott?" The fact that he addressed her by her surname went without comment. It was just something he did.

"Andrew Corner." Melanie gave a small smile. Danny rather thought her cheeks were too much a shade of pink to be appropriate. He glared.

"Sucks." He bit out, but it only came out laid back and mildly disinterested as everything he said did. He thought back on when they had seen each other for the first time after the Summer, when she had run straight up to him, Darrel trailing in his constant sulk behind her, and hugged him, laying her chin briefly on his shoulder before jumping away and tugging on his hair.

_"__Happy birthday, Bitch." _She had said, uncharacteristically vulgar, just the way she knew he liked. _Like a mini fucking Darrel_. He thought sarcastically, amused by the company he liked to keep. _'Talk dirty to me.'_ seemed to be his life motto.

Melanie frowned, and Danny remembered what her expression was referring to. "Not even." She said. Her long hair fell over her shoulders in straight, dark curtains. "I could have been with Spakes like Lili Alward."

Danny's jaw clenched, and so he took a drag to mask it.

"He'll never show up to their patrols." Danny snorted. Samuel Spakes wasn't called 'Flakey Spakey' for nothing.

Opposite him, Darrel was staring out the window, eyes absent as they always were. The boy didn't need half the shit most people did to get so vacant. But perhaps he could do with some, because not many needed it as bad as he did, the way things tended to process in his mind.

"Ever." Melanie said, and she studied her shoelaces. As she always did. As she always had. Danny looked at them, too, and the minutes ticked away.

* * *

Chae stared straight ahead, not faltering under the green stare she was being subject to. She didn't blink, she didn't move, she didn't even dare breath. It was silent, even though all around there were noises meshing together, creating an unmusical buzz.

He stared back, looking down the few missing inches at the rigid fourth-year. A beat passed and he raised his eyebrow.

It was all it took. as soon as his left brow was arched higher than his right, her stony expression broke into a grin and she was around his waist, hugging the living daylights right out of him. Her cheek was pressed hard against his chest so that she wouldn't crush her face and her eyes were squeezed shut.

He was a piece of junk, she thought, and she hated him, she truly did. But he had surprised her so incredibly much and she wondered how she could have missed him on the Platform. But then, he had probably been keeping out of sight on purpose, just to wind Vivienne Sibrian's wheels a little bit more, a little tighter, adding just a little bit more stress and shrillness for Chae to deal with. And he was a bastard for that, but at the moment she didn't really even care.

"What are you doing here!?" She asked him, finally letting go.

He grinned at her with a single corner of the mouth, shoving him hands in his pockets.

"Guess I may have just been threatening, as if I would ditch a year of such important education for mother."

To Chae's ears, he sounded far too casual, far too unconcerned, far too guiltless. And he _should_ have been the opposite. He should at least have been sorry, if even to her, because it was _her_ who had had to listen to endless rapid french, muttering, scathing comments, angry and irritable complaints from her mother while he had been Merlin-knows-where doing Merlin-knows-what.

It wasn't fair, _she_ hadn't convinced her overbearing mother that she was ditching school, _she_ hadn't had a little stash of smoke-able magical herbs hidden under a loose floorboard and _she_ hadn't gotten her girlfriend pregnant. She didn't even _have _a girlfriend for Morgana's sake.

"But what about Elsie?" Chae asked, perplexed.

He only grinned sheepishly and she looked at him, confused.

"Well, I _might_ have made that up to get a rise out of mother..." He trailed off, though despite his smile there was nothing too guilty about him. He didn't even care.

But Chae did, and she frowned at him, eyebrows furrowing. She opened her mouth in anger, only to purse it for lack of words. Finally, when she had gathered enough to form a desirable sentence, she opened it again, her hands landing on her hips.

"You, Desmond Sibrian, are the worst brother in the history of brothers. Do you even know what I had to _endure_ because of that information, which now you tell me is _false_? Vivienne was _unbearable_. She talked in French, Desmond, _French. _Do you know what that means? That means that _I _had to listen to her, it means that _I_ had to fall asleep to the sound of her blaming Dad for how bad you turned out. It means that _I, I_ who had absolutely nothing to do with this besides being related to you had to take all the after effects of _your_ stunts."

She was rambling, she knew it. She was just _so_ damn angry with him and he just stood there, grinning and smiling and shoving his hands into his pockets as if it were nothing. Except he wasn't anymore, there was something in his eyes that showed that she had struck a chord.

Chae's inner Hufflepuff told her to stop, because obviously that chord she had just played hurt him, if even a bit, but then the other part of her Hufflepuff soul yearned for fairness, and this, this was justice.

It sounded rather harsh, but she had hurt, too, and it was his turn now.

"And Dad, instead of defending _you_, blamed her, and _I_, Desmond, I stood there, wondering if it would ever stop and just wishing I could be where you were. And _where_ were you, anyway?"

Desmond rocked back on his heels, rolling his head in obvious discomfort. He mumbled something, but Chae couldn't for the life of her figure out what.

"_What?_"

"_I said_, I was at Aunt Kiki's." He snarled.

Chae scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nice try, Mum flooed her."

It was true, when Vivienne had finished her round of complaining and screeching, she had grabbed a handful of floo powder and first gone to Aunt Candise's, then to Aunt Danette's and lastly to Aunt Kiki's and Melissa's.

"Yeah, well, Aunt Kiki's an excellent liar. And Mel backed her up, they don't like mother very much." Desmond said stiffly. Chae sighed, tired of their argument.

She should have figured Aunt Kiki was lying, but she had believed her and hadn't gone to check for herself. _Of course_ that's where he had been the whole time. Desmond had always loved Aunt Kiki and Mel, _why _hadn't she thought of it?

"I saw Rachel during the holidays, why didn't she tell me you were there?" Rachel Bianz Sibrian was the adoptive daughter of Kiki Sibrian and Melissa Bianz. Chae had gone to Diagon Alley with Rachel, but she hadn't so much as mentioned Desmond. Why would she do that to her?

"Yeah, well, I made her swear not to speak a word, it's not her fault."

Chae was confused. She was angry, sure, she felt betrayed, sure, but she was also very, _very_ happy and she just couldn't quite stamp that feeling out. But she was also sad.

A month ago, Chae had come home from an afternoon with Olevia only to be greeted by raised voices. She had sighed, raised voices is normal families were surely bearable, but when the voice in question belonged to her mother, it was better to stay out of earshot.

Vivienne Sibrian could be charming, she could be respectable and she could be a comfortable companion. The times in which Vivienne Sibrian was those things were getting thinner and thinner by the year and she was more of an irritable, snide, snobby, stuck up broken wireless with a pitch problem.

Walking to the kitchen to fetch herself a glass of water, Chae had wondered what had got her mother screeching this time, but the answer was already there, waiting in the back of her mind to be uncovered.

It had been a given that her brother had had his hands in this, because if Desmond had a hobby (which Vivienne constantly insisted he didn't), it was pissing his mother off. It was little things – a Muggle girlfriend, dirty shoe-prints on her prestigious carpet, Muggle music, the wrong suit to a family get-together, or even just inappropriate comments during a formal dinner – all of which didn't fit under the label of little in Vivienne's eyes. He always had a new way to push her buttons cooked up that it was nearly a given that this ha been his doing, too.

And it had.

The door to the kitchen had burst open, the tanned figure of Desmond Sibrian standing in the doorway, heading for the cupboard with a cooling charm on it to grab a drink as if he hadn't a care in the world. But Chae could see his eyes flashing.

She hadn't been sure if he had been angry or enjoying himself – or both. Her mother had been in next, long, strawberry blonde hair flipping over her shoulder as she held a plastic bag in her hand, waving it while fuming loudly.

She had flung it right beneath his nose, to which he had responded only with a sip of firewhisky. Vivienne's face had scrunched up at that, though she still looked perfect with her beautiful features, and she had started yelling at him in French so rapid not even Chae had understood everything.

She had gotten a good idea of what was going on, though.

And then, only a week later, Desmond had looked up over dinner, smiled pleasantly at them all and said in an absolutely calm tone.

"So, Elsie's pregnant."

This had not only pissed off Vivienne, though, but also Matthew Sibrian, Desmond and Chae's father. Of course, the levels on which the two were angry were at a large distance from each other. Because unlike Vivienne, Matthew didn't believe that it was absolutely shameful for a wizard to impregnate a Muggle, thus passing on the blessed gift of magic onto unworthy bastards, and that there was absolutely no circumstance in which the baby could be born and even less circumstances in which any son of her's would marry someone of such a low standing.

Unlike Vivienne, Matthew was just a normal father concerned for his son, and so Desmond had once more snagged victory.

And he had been furious, too, despite his success. He had shouted at his mother that she was a heartless hag and that he would marry who he wanted, and that there was absolutely no way she could decide about the life of his child and so he had stated that instead of returning for his seventh year at Hogwarts, he was going to rent a flat for him and Elsie and take care of her.

Vivienne had immediately said that she would deny him access to any family money. Desmond had shouted that he didn't care, that he would get a job and that he didn't give a shit about her family money, because he'd rather not be part of this family at all. And then he had stormed up the staircase and into his room, throwing all of his possessions into a bag with an expansion charm on it and left the house with only a look at Chae, but no words of farewell spoken.

He hadn't uttered another word, he had just ignored his mother's words and slammed the door shut, never coming back.

And so Chae had spent three weeks in emotional turmoil, worried and hurt by her brother's actions, frustrated and stressed by her mother's words and anxious and crying when her Dad had had enough and left to sleep at a friend's house more than once.

She had thought of Desmond and she had thought of Deon, her other brother. Deon was twenty-two and was studying wizarding college in France. For the past four years, she had only seen him at Christmas. She knew he had a girlfriend, a French witch named Émilie, but he didn't really keep in touch.

She had clenched her teeth as to make it harder to sob, she had let tears flow freely down her cheeks, she had screamed into her pillow, she had tried drowning her world in books and music, she had tried numbing all the pain and distress she felt inside by rolling up a joint of some herb thing Desmond had left behind, forgotten, but she had only ended up choking on it as she sat on the roof of her house and spitting until the bad taste went away.

She had stolen a glass of her mother's mulled mead and downed it, which had went a little better, but the light feeling had only lasted a while, and then it got worse.

And then her Dad had left again and Vivienne had gone out too, and Chae had had the whole, unnecessarily large house all to herself until the next day, because neither of her parents had bothered coming home that night.

And so Chae had sneaked into Desmond's now empty room and lied on his bed, snuggled into his pillow and cried into his sheets. And when she still couldn't fall asleep, she had opened the door to Deon's old room and remembered what it had been like with him around, and sniffled because if he had cared he would have visited more often. She had taken a book on healing from his shelf and read it, even if it all made absolutely no sense to her. She had finally fallen asleep at three o'clock in the morning, her eyes pounding from the tiredness, crying and intensive reading, book fallen to the ground, open on a page about mending bones, wondering if maybe her heart could be mended, because it just hurt so much, and her eyes closing with the wistful thought, wondering if maybe her family could be mended, because right now, it was seriously messed up.

And with all that in mind, Chae looked up once more at her brother and she couldn't, she just couldn't blame it all on him, because after all that had happened, she knew he was the one she would go running after if it would come to the worst. Not Deon, not her Dad, despite loving him dearly, and definitely not Vivienne.

Suddenly he was hugging her and she didn't know why. Then she realised she was crying and the comfort she felt by the gesture was overwhelming and she knew that for now, if only for a moment, everything would be alright.

* * *

_(28/11/16) A/N: Hey! Most of this chapter has already been up here. Yeah. Not feeling like writing a too long A/N right now, super tired, little kids running around everywhere. I have too many nieces._

_Cheers,_

_Charlie_


	4. 3 Please Not Ravenclaw

Teenagers

Chapter 3

_Please Not Ravenclaw_

It was long, that's what it was. Unnecessarily, too.

He didn't really even care if Rowena Ravenclaw favoured those who could think well and quick or that Salazar Slytherin was a traitor - or whatever the hell it was the Hat thought it was insinuating.

And then they were calling names, and then the little kids got sorted and that's just how it went each year. And he didn't even care about where „Brakkert, Damien." was going to be sorted – all he cared about hearing was where little Gaibe Jordeons was going to end up, because if she got sorted into Ravenclaw and would be under constant surveillance and on corruption notice, he would be extremely annoyed.

He was also kinda hoping she'd be in Slytherin, so that he could shield her from his brother, but he knew that she probably wouldn't be – and he would be damn happy if she was anywhere that wasn't the house of the eagle.

Danny Flaxton was next to him, rolling his eyes and booing down a girl who just got sorted into Gryffindor. Darrel's lip twitched, Danny was an idiot. Well, not quite, he was actually pretty smart, but he was an idiot, nonetheless. And the booing wasn't as loud as it could be – and the little girl surely couldn't have heard it – but he was an idiot, all the same.

But it made Darrel smile, because thank Merlin that he wasn't the only bitter fuck in his house because had he been, it would have driven him even more bitter – or Merlin forbid – cured him.

And then he could go around helping firsties tie their shoelaces and being the good little Prefect and maybe he would even end up being Head Boy next year. And then his mother would say how very much like Charles her younger son was turning out, and how lucky it was to have such a good influence in the family, and how Andrea was surely on her way to be a splendid little mini-Charles, too and _blah, blah, blah._

He turned to Danny, who gave him a wicked grin that could have meant many things – and Darrel wasn't quite sure which – but then caught the gaze of a fellow sixth year and he groaned. Because _why _would Carmen Perrymay be looking at him when he had explicitly informed her that he wasn't interested last year – after they'd slept together, admittedly – but still so.

She was in Ravenclaw, she was a smart girl, she should have been able to figure it out. Actually, that was one of the things that had made Darrel wary of her at first – being a Ravenclaw – because he just couldn't help it but the thought of any Ravenclaw reminded him of his brother and he preferred not to be reminded – not that he didn't do so himself practically all the time – but he was not about to admit that to himself.

But then he had gotten a wicked thought and he had been sure he was a genius – he was still sure, as a matter of fact – because wouldn't it be just _so fucking great_ if he could defy his brother's wishes with someone in his own territory? Because the fact that Charles Grante was Ravenclaw Prefect surely meant to Charles that he owned the place, and so snatching a bird – an eagle – right from under his wings would be the perfect way of saying '_fuck you__'_, no?

But he had underestimated Carmen. She was probably an academic type, because really, otherwise he couldn't see where her Ravenclaw was. And she had been kind of pretty, damn annoying, but he had guessed that he could make an exception because her eyes had been an unusually clear shade of blue and her dark hair had smelled like pineapple and had been nice to bury his face into. But he truly _had _underestimated her, because the girl was clingy like an explodable jello-bomb on skin – Gaibe had thrown one at him once – and he just couldn't seem to shake her off – and then she was sitting down with him at breakfast, catching up to him in corridors between classes and talking about the Hogsmeade trip on Valentine's day so much that he just couldn't take it anymore. He had told her that there was no way in hell they were going anywhere on Valentines day because that would just give her false hope that he could ever feel anything more than physical attraction to her, at which she had run off crying and made a scene the next day and _did he even care?_ He had just brushed her off and thought he'd be done with it, but obviously not, because Perrymay was looking at him with determination and that could never mean anything good when coming from a Ravenclaw.

He groaned, to which Danny laughed and Darrel thought he was a mean-spirited fuck because it was just pure evil to wish a Perrymay on Darrel after the whole fiasco. For some reason, girls seemed to like him. They probably just ignored the fact that he was a complete arsehole – either that, or they found it attractive, which was actually quite possible because girls were just weird that way. And then they went around thinking that they could win him totally, like _totally_, feelings and all, but Darrel just didn't quite believe in that shit and thought it was totally overrated.

Which it was, of course.

„Jordeons, Gaibe."

Darrel's head snapped up at the sound of his cousin's name. Out of the crowd of Firsties stepped an absolutely tiny little girl – she was at least a head shorter than the rest – but what she lacked in size she seemed to make up for in confidence, because the prick Fawley knew how to strut but he had nothing on this midget, because she was walking like she was the boss of the whole of Hogwarts and he couldn't help but snort and shake his head.

She turned and caught his eye and he gave her the corner-up, which made her smirk and toss her hair, eyes glinting mischievously and she was obnoxious and rude but she was also plain awesome and had even hugged him last week – though she had punched him in the gut after - and she drove Charles crazy and he absolutely loved her for that little fact.

And then she plopped down on the stool like it was a _fucking_ throne and let the ripped and charred hat cover her entire face and Darrel waited, breathing calmly but inside panicking – because if the hat called Ravenclaw he was going to personally transfer just to become a human shield-

Before his thoughts could venture any further, a voice shouted, „GRYFFINDOR!" and Darrel's brain was wiped clean.

He should have expected it, he thought half a second later, right after gathering himself. Danny was booing under his breath again, but Darrel was frowning. And then he grinned, because she wasn't in Ravenclaw and that was the most important of matters at the moment.

And so he looked up and down the Slytherin table and thought „_fuck them all"_ and let out a cheer at the top of his lungs.

The entire Slytherin table muted down to mutters.

Many things had been seen over the years (like Ami Zabini climbing a goal-post in naught but her underwear – a lacy bra and a skimpy pair of knickers) but there was a collective negative on anyone ever seeing (or hearing) Darrel Grante cheer so loud. Or cheer at all. Especially for the sorting of a Gryffindor. And he had cheered _very _loud indeed.

Because if there was a thing that travelled through the Black family other than dark hair and grey eyes (and occasional dementia caused by inbreeding), it was the lungs that could not be ignored when put to full use.

And Darrel just sat back, face impassive, and winked at Gaibe ever so slightly. She caught it and grinned so wide she could have been the sun, which made Darrel feel slightly better about himself, even if it was truly just the sliver that was brought to him by either Gaibe or Andrea.

Somewhere, someone coughed – and it was Professor Longbottom – and then the next name was up, and slowly, very slowly, the people looked away.

„What the hell was that, man?" Danny asked from his right, disbelieving. Darrel shrugged, reclining into the wall behind his back, tapping his knee with his fingers, drumming out a favourite beat.

„Was just cheering on my cousin." He answered innocently, looking at Danny with wide, dark grey eyes. Danny laughed quietly at first, but it grew more and more uncontrollable by the second and then he had his forehead buried in his empty golden plate and there were tears in his eyes.

Darrel didn't really know what was funny, but he found that he was suppressing a smile and was shaking with silent laughter, too. His chest was trembling, up, down, up, down, and for a minute he felt great, he felt happy and he didn't give a shit if he was related to Charles or not.

Danny was an idiot, but Merlin, Darrel had no idea what he'd do without him.

Green. Green, green, green and perhaps a dose of silver. Oh and ebony. Lots and lots of ebony. And black leather and green again – it was all bathed in green. It was funny though, how it seemed more like home, despite the fact that his very own room in London looked practically the same. He had insisted upon it, ever since his first year, because then it felt like he was back here.

Except at home there was no Danny snickering over a guy harassing a girl on the sofa in the back – at home there _was_ no guy harassing a girl on the sofa in the back. And there wasn't a Melanie Nott on his left, attempting to braid his hair. It was her hobby, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Danny was let off the hook because his hair was shorter than his, thus making _him_ Melanie's number one victim.

Melanie was great. She did, admittedly, have a slightly pug-ish tinge to her face, but it was nowhere near as pronounced as her mother's. Luckily Melanie's father was considerably handsome – not that those were _his _words, because as already stated before, he was far from homosexual – so Melanie was saved from looking too much like a dog. But greatness wasn't measured in looks, and so, even had been a carbon copy of Pansy (who wasn't too ugly, in the end), Melanie would have still been great.

He didn't get why she couldn't braid _her_ hair, because it was absolutely loose and falling over one shoulder and it was so bloody fucking long it reached the small of her back, so why the fuck was his hair – which was just long enough to fit into horribly small and asymmetrical braids – the one being subject to little elastic bands?

At least they were black and not something revolting like pink.

"There." She said, her expression one of satisfaction and pride. She was looking at him like he was her son and had just made a sand-castle. Or perhaps like he was her masterpiece or something.

Darrel sighed, looking at her exasperatedly.

"Great, do I look like a princess?" He asked with sarcasm. Melanie giggled, shoving him in the head.

"Oi!" He batted her hand away, "Watch it, you'll ruin my hair." He gave her a scolding look and she laughed, poking him in the ribs. Darrel let out an involuntary gasp and Melanie's face turned sly.

"Oh, how could I forget, you're _ticklish._"

He looked at her in mock horror. "You wouldn't dare." He accused.

"Oh, I would."

"I'd advise you to not to, because I can make your life extremely difficult. Miss not the fact, Miss Nott, that I come from _the_ family of Black."

"But sir, you seem very white."

He stared at her while she grinned, his expression screaming '_are you fucking serious?_', or he hoped it did, because it could also look demented, which he would prefer it not to. He wasn't sure if he succeeded when she merely laughed and threw her legs up on the couch, scooting back to lean her back against the armrest. He stared her down, because if she was going to fucking – ah, too late, her feet were already on his lap and she was smiling like some fucking cat who ate the cream.

He raised his eyebrows, because this was about the same as with the case of the braids – she was unstoppable. He had seen the look Perrymay had given him, but that girl was a piece of cake to fend off compared to Melanie – because Melanie was nothing if not determined – and so even if he had shoved her legs off a million times, they would have still found their way back.

So he settled instead on shaking his head and turning around to talk to Danny, who was still busy watching Nina Ward shooting scathing looks at Ricky Blanca over her shoulder while he stared at her with a devilish look on his face.

"Mate, how the fuck did Blanca get away without a slap?" Danny asked. Darrel looked at the two seventh-years, studying up on Nina Ward for a moment before leaning back against the soft leather.

"Ah, but surely you can see they're sleeping together."

Danny's head snapped to the side and was facing him before he could even blink. Darrel snorted. Danny was such a fucking gossip.

"Seriously?" He asked, eyes twinkling. Darrel shrugged slowly, his lips twisting ever so slightly with the suppressed smile.

"How would I know? 't's not like Ward's giving absolutely _obvious _signs, now, is it?"

Danny frowned, looking back at Nina for a moment. He turned back to Darrel and shook his head.

"No, she isn't. So how'd you know?"

Darrel's lip corner jumped up despite his restraints and he brought it back down immediately. "I don't know. Ask Melanie."

Danny leaned back over the backrest, staring at Melanie. "Hey, Nott." He said and her head shot up.

"Flaxton?"

"Shut up, I'm Danny." He told her with a meaningful smile. She rolled her eyes. "Now, Nott, would you care to tell me how the fuck Grante here knows that Ward and Blanca are shagging?"

Melanie looked at the two in question and raised her eyebrows.

"I don't know how _Darrel_ knows, but I know because she told me. How _do_ you know?" She rounded on Darrel, who sighed heavily, placed his hands over Melanie's thighs and lifted them away from his lap. He stood up before she could return them and made a show off dusting off his pants.

He have them a solemn look, nodding in his head a little.

"I'm just special that way." He said before turning around and walking away in the direction of the boys dormitories.

* * *

„He's dreamy." Anelle sighed, back sinking into the spoils of her Gryffindor four-poster. Ellie Blaine's grin radiated all the way towards her from the bed to her left.

'He's _special_.' She mouthed to Nora Wood, who slept on the other side of Anelle, swooning dramatically. Nora laughed. Anelle stuck out a middle finger to each girl, lips stretched into a smile that tried to be strict.

"Oh come on 'Nells, he's _perfect_, we know. How was it at the Prefect's meeting?" Nora laughed happily, gleeful that they were back at Hogwarts.

Anelle sighed dramatically, and sat up. She looked over at the bed on the other end of the dormitory, the one Roxie Weasley should be sitting on. But she was gone. Again.

"Well, not as good as I would have hoped." She twisted her mouth in disappointment. "I got paired up with the wrong Grante brother." She heaved a long-suffering sigh. Ellie's eyes lit up and she clapped her hands happily. Nora just smirked knowingly.

"Ooh!" Ellie exclaimed. "You got paired up with Darrel Grante!? Why wasn't _I _made Prefect?"

Nora Weasley laughed, and Anelle scrunched up her face.

"The better question is, why was _Anelle _made Prefect?" Nora said, rolling her eyes. "Who's in from the Seconds?" She bypassed Ellie's swooning. Anelle thought for a moment.

"That blond kid called Philip Fleshman and the Minister's daughter. You know, Jin Shacklebolt?" Anelle said, annoyed. Ellie snorted.

"Fitting." She threw her legs over the edge of her bed and started opening her trunk.

"And there's like _so many _Prefects. I don't think we need as many Prefects. Jin Shacklebolt can take my badge any day." Anelle huffed. The only reason she was _actually_ enjoying her badge was Charlie, her stupid, seemingly life-long crush.

"Where's Roxie, anyway?" Nora asked suddenly, and Anelle shrugged.

"Where's Roxie most days?" She asked. The day Roxie actually spent half the time any of them did in Gryffindor Tower was the day Anelle got over Charlie. Seemingly never going to happen. Or so she trusted.

"No one knows." Ellie sang, rummaging around in her trunk. Something clinked inside it, and Anelle leaned over to see what it was. Ellie pulled out a bottle of wine.

"Who says we not listen to class tomorrow and celebrate this a little?" The two remaining girls smiled.

"I do!" Anelle exclaimed, and the three of them stayed up way into the night. Still, Roxie only arrived after they had all passed out on Anelle's bed.

* * *

_(18/4/17) A/N: Heyo people, I'm here, I'm back. Not for sure, I guess. I'm just sporadic like that. Most of this chapter has been here before, now with a bit added. A bit that will most probably be re-edited in some time, as I like to do. Because I'm just sporadic like that.  
_

_Last time I wrote an Author's Note, I mentioned having too many nieces. It seemed amusingly fitting, reading that a few days ago, seeing as they're running about near me just now. With another niece on her way, along with my first nephew. My sister should be giving birth any day now._

_I apologise for the serious unreliability I bring with myself, but if you've read the update of Chapter 2, I'm a bit like Flakey Spakey. Not to mention the absolute DISinspiration I seem to experience on most days. Like seriously, I'm so bad at actually coming up with something to write about I feel like clubbing myself in the head. _

_Until next time (whenever that will be), I thank anyone and everyone actually reading this,_

_Cheers,_

_Charlie_


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